


Memory

by Rachrar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachrar/pseuds/Rachrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even from the start, it was obvious. It was in the way he held himself, the way he dressed so carefully, kept his hair so smooth, and was so meticulous. It was also in the way he glanced over to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory

Even from the start, it was obvious. It was in the way he held himself, the way he dressed so carefully, kept his hair so smooth, and was so meticulous. It was also in the way he glanced over to me. Nothing as glaringly obvious as an outright stare, but just a lingering of those baby blue eyes on my torso, or my arm, or on his own as I passed over a paper and we brushed together. The way those eyes glowed when I smiled, the way they dimmed when I scowled. I tested it, sometimes, toying with my emotions to see his reactions. They were subtle, but I saw them.

And then I began to think,  _How can I use this to my advantage?_

I began to exploit it slowly, small details to watch him straighten up, lean forward, his eyebrows widening along with his smile. Carefully, I reeled out his emotions on a line, giving him just enough hope that he might think it accidental. Just enough to catch his attention- not too much as to make him run. It was amusing, really, to watch him dash after my smiles, my small touches, pats on the back and, if especially amusing, a tackle and small wrestling fit to work off some energy.

And when he fell to his back in our wrestling (for I always won), his expression was breathtaking. Not in a particularly attractive way, he simply  _was_ , but the emotions he fought to keep behind a cracked facade would finally slip and show themselves with startling clarity, enough to make even I lose touch and wonder that humans can feel so deeply, so much, for one person. It amused me.

His cheeks would redden just enough that it was noticeable, reminding me of soft rose petals. Those pink lips would part in a gasp that was part surprise at his own sharpness of emotion, part desire, and part fear. His eyes would flash, sky blue eyes shining dark for a moment before paling to their usual hue, fear flitting past right after hope, as though they were in a race to be felt. His hands would rise as if to grasp as my shoulders or wrap about my neck and pull me down, but he never would quite do it, twitching to a stop after pressing his palms against my chest, like he wanted to push me off but couldn't convinve himself to. Then, and only then, would his fingers twitch in a desire to grasp at my jacket and pull me down, ending this split second reaction with a harsh shove and a forced laugh, sitting up quickly while I rolled away to watching him hide his features in his hair, combing it with his fingers.

I never told him outright that I noticed, merely ending on my stomach and propping my head on a hand with a smile, kicking my feet idly. I am sure that my eyes were full of amusement, for he always looked terrified for just a moment before I would change the subject smoothly, easily, to what he had discovered that prompted the wrestling bout. The fear would be repleaced with bittersweet relief, and he would continue with a dispassionate sadness exuding from his false smile. Regardless, I enjoyed that lie.

That lie is what entertained me for such a long time, watching him fluster about and, wittily, I must admit, attempt to find out if I was interested in him. His mind was quick, sharp, and his best feature. It was what caught my attention from the start and captured my interest. Had he been as beautiful (such is the only word to describe the effeminate boy) as he was without his mind, there would have been only fleeting interest, if that. No, his mind is what I liked to drag about, to torture and watch struggle, for his expressions were so clear to those who could read them that it was as though I could read his very mind. It was entertaining- no. It was magic.

Magic must be involved in this thing called  _love_ , else there would be no sense in this world. For what else would a boy, almost a man, as intelligent as Albus, obey my each whispered command? For what other reason would Albus' eyes linger, flashing with emotions I could recognize but not feel? Why would would he, when he stayed in my room, too late to return to his home, whimper and cry out my name, manhood hard in his trousers? For what other reason would he risk death by letting hints of his attraction slip from his lips for any to hear? It must be magic.

Whatever it was, it was powerful. More powerful than even the curses he lauds as Unforgivable, those curses that I call admirable. They confer power and a measure of responsibility, and so, his emotions give me responsibility as well. I must nurture it to fruition, watch the seed of affection grow strong like a tree, bear fruit of a nature wholly unknown to me to better observe this thing called  _love_. Would it taste sweet? Would it be bitter? Whatever it would be, I resolved to find out.

What I learned was interesting. Love was powerful, great, and destroyed independent thought. My whim was his command, my requests his quick compliance. It was pathetic, really, to see him smiling at me with such hope that I could do nothing but muss his hair, feel him nuzzle my hand before laughing, pulling away.

What was most interesting, however, was seeing his hope continue to rise. Each touch would excite him, his heart beating more quickly, face flushing, and pupils dilating. I pull close to him, cupping his cheek gently and whisper,  _I can feel your desire_ , in his ear so softly. Feel his fear as he tensed, muscles clenching and seeing his flight response light up, but too unsure to bolt just yet.  _I feel your fear_ , I continue, meeting those sparkling blue eyes, knowing that I had picked just the right time. His undereyes were dark, and he was pale, his body just showing the effects of constant unsurity and tyrannically ruled by hope.  _Let me feel your body against mine_ , I end, and tears almost fall from relief from those eyes, brightened by by joy.

He embraces me, and I fight the urge to throw him across the room, to get myself out of this sudden feeling of clausterphobia. I meet his lips with kisses, feeling him shiver and open to me, whimper and cry out for more, always more with Albus. Nothing was ever enough.

I make him mine, that night, my natural tendency towards silence making him fight to coerce me into sound, watching him struggle and emerge triumphant when I allow the slightest sigh to pass my parted lips, his attention focused on me and only me. It would always be me, for I was not about to allow this boy to slip through my fingers. His mind would be kept and cherished, polished into a mirror of my future. He would be what I want him to be.

His sister, however, created a problem. Her simple nature let her investigate sounds she did not understand without fear, pushing the half open door wider to see her brother all but crying, hair knotted as he pulls me closer, begging. I see her, but I do not acknowledge her, Albus too far gone in his lust to see anything but me. She stand there, watches, and when she sees him cling as tightly as he can, whimpering in pleasure, she leaves.

There were repurcussions, but it was nothing I could not handle. That's not to say that I feel that I can do anything- it simply means that I acknowledge my own intelligence and its power. Goat Boy was less than pleased at knowing his brother was a nancy boy, as he called it, demanding harshly that I never return to darken their doorstep. I take the opportunity, I take the chance, to test Albus.

 _I love you_ , I say in his ear.  _Do not let him push me away. I need you as I need air to breathe- we must not separate_.

Albus defends me, standing in front of me as though Goat Boy was a threat, crying out that he did not understand, there was no reason that it was wrong.  _The Greater Good,_  he says,  _includes the right to love._

There, I see Goat Boy break. I see the anger, the frustration, the painful resentment of a family member, then those similar blue eyes turn to see me. I feel the rush of power, and I feel my hand dive into my robes, a smile on my features as I turn my wand upon Goat Boy. His eyes widen in fear and he takes a step back. My free hand goes to Albus' waist, my wand out of the redhead's sight, but my lips by his ear. He leans back into my touch naturally, familiarly. He suspects nothing.

_Crucio._

Screams, a spinning figure with fury in his features. I do not understand- if he loved me, if this power I weilded so easily over him before was still there, why did he turn against me? Why did his wand rise to my chest and push me back with a blast of magic? I do not understand. I do not understand.

I feel another spell strike me, but Albus defends - attacks me- it is all too fast to take in.  _No! No! Don't hurt him! If you're angry, hurt me! Don't hurt them!_

He does not expect me to strike at Goat Boy again, a blur interrupting the spell to scream in a feminine tone, writhing, writhing in pain upon the floor. Both stare for a moment, Ariana twitching and screaming- a spell strikes me, but I do not let up. I let it go, I smile, because I know what ties Albus down, I know why he does not obey me in my last command to leave with me.

I am forced to stop with a particularly clever spell by Albus, pulled back, spells are flying towards me, away from me, towards her, towards Albus- my mind forms  _Crucio_ , but my lips form  _Avada Kedavra_  and the spell is out of my sight as I am spun towards the wall, striking hard and falling. I admit, I am spent and too hurt to continue for that moment. The silence greets me, however, and makes me raise my head.

The spells are over, the duel is done. Ariana is upon the floor, eyes wide and unseeing. She is dead. For a moment, I feel victory, but when I see Albus' face, it crashes, my hopes falter, and my mind is full of an emotion I  _do_  understand; anger.

He is so silently staring, shocked, fearful, and he hurts. It is all over his expression. He is hurt on the inside, where no spell may reach and no touch may cure. I stand and dust myself off, seeing a similar expression in Goat Boy's features, but there too lies anger, eyes accusingly staring at Albus, at me. But I do not care. He is merely the Goat Boy. He poses no threat.

Albus does not move when I crouch by him, one last whisper in his soft ear. He does not acknowledge it, but I know he hears. His pupils dilate and his breath hitches just enough to demonstrate understanding. I wait a few moments, the dust in the room raised by the duel settling softly on him like new fallen snow.

 _I cannot,_ he answered finally, lips moving so little that it is as though a spirit spoke.  _I cannot..._  Defeat in his tone, I am denied. I look to Goat Boy, and back to Albus.

I say nothing, but I take my leave. I will deal no longer with foolish boys and their hopes for something that never shall be. I take my dream, for the greater good, away from Albus and leave him with despair. I leave him where no magic can cure him. And I leave.

I remember an owl I sent to him a short while later, when Germany is under my power and my reign is untouchable.  _I was told my dreams are ridiculous, that they would never happen. But look at me now, Albus. Look at me now. I've accomplished what some men only think of. I thought, and acted. I will unify the worlds and bring this fighting to an end._

I am unsurprised when I get no reply.

I sit in my cell in Nuremgard, and I know that I have lost. I replay that day in my mind, I play those two months in my head. I do not mourn the loss, I do not feel anger. I feel nothing. When fire and ice meet, there is left not even water to mourn its passing. And so, I simply exist.

He visits me from time to time, silence and calm serenity his companion. Unlike then, I cannot shatter it with a well placed word, cannot see his laugh behind those old eyes. Like always, I am unsurprised when he chooses to leave breaking the silence to me. I see the power to read minds in his eyes- and I see him rein in the desire. I smirk just a little. I still hold him, body and soul. He just does not know it.

This time, however, this last visit, I know it is his last. He has the feel of death about him, and I can sense the cold gloom approaching for us both. I uncoil myself from the wall, chains rattling as I stand slowly, joints cracking and my long, unkempt hair brushing my knees. Under the grime, there still shines true golden curls.

He looks to me and see me moving, but he does not let it show in his expression. I can read him as I always could, and I feel his surprise in the air, the wonderment, and the fear. He wonders what I want.

I reach a hand out mutely. He sees it, and, with as much knowledge of me as I had of him, takes my hand lightly. I tighten the hold, and I cling to the life I feel pulsing in his veins. I see what he wonders, and I let him know what I say silently. I loosen my hand from his and I trace his palm with my index finger. A triangle. A circle. A line. It is completed. He knows what I say, remembers the last words I have ever spoken to him.

Tears fall from his eyes, but no sounds escape him. I turn away silently and I sit back down, staring at him stoically. I am a shell, and he knows this. But my last emotion remains.

He stands as well and touches the bars of my cell.  _I remember,_  he says. That is all he says. He turns slowly, cautiously. He is old, I see, no longer the sprite of a boy that he once was. His other hand is shriveled and dead, poisoned, as he is as well. But which poison shall kill him first, I wonder to myself. His broken heart, or the lies?

He takes his leave, head bowed. His lips part to speak, facing away- I hear the sound of lingering desire, memories of being young dancing in the air. He walks away, my reminder weighing heavily in his mind, frame stooped from age and burdens. I have alleviated at least one, I know. But he had many more to lose.

_You're the only one I know will be here in the end, Albus. You're the only one who even cares a little._


End file.
